


The Essential Self

by Anataeus



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga, Supernatural
Genre: Atma Virus, Body Horror, Gore, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anataeus/pseuds/Anataeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a werewolf hunt gone wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awaken

Getting pinned by a dozen werewolves in some godforsaken warehouse in some podunk goddamn town was _so_ not the highlight of Dean’s week. The things were circling up around him and his brother, and he was not looking forward to when they decided to charge. He kept his aim steady on what looked like their pack alpha while Sam covered his back, hoping like hell that taking him out would at least confuse the others enough that the two of them could get shots off on the rest of the fuckers.

But even with the two of them watching, werewolves are fast sons of bitches and all it takes is one glance back to make sure Sam’s alright for them to run in. He tries to fight them off, managing to shoot one of them down in the process, but against their superior strength and numbers there's not much he can really do. Dean hears an echo of his father lecturing him, as he gets picked up and tossed into some crates like a fucking rag-doll. _Gettin’ real sloppy, Dean. Don’t you take your eyes off a monster for one second, you hear me son?_

The crates shatter under his and Sam’s combined weight, and it’s just their luck that they were holding some kind of glass something-or-other because he feels his back getting sliced up something awful from the impact. He hears Sam hiss in pain next to him, so he knows Sam’s probably cut all to hell too. Fucking perfect. Man, he better not get an infection from this shit.

When scrambling to his feet, though, his back starts to burn.  _Well shit, that ain’t normal._ Dean grunts in pain, followed by an answering moan from Sam. _What the hell was in those crates?_

The burning feeling just gets worse and worse, and it's only moments more before Dean doubles up from the pain. His vision starts pulsing, red creeping in around the edges, and he hears screams and doesn’t even know if they’re his or his brother’s but it gets more painful still as it feels like his body’s twisting, stretching - and a voice, chanting louder and louder in time with his pulse in the back of his head, **rip, shred, kill, _DEVOUR_** \- until finally, he crests into blissful unconsciousness.

When he wakes, he’s covered in blood and surrounded by the torn shreds of the werewolf pack and a shaky, equally blood-covered little brother.

\-------------

First things first: Dean stops and takes stock of the situation. Something has ripped the pack that had been bearing down on the two of them into scattered little bits, while apparently leaving both him and his brother unmolested. Whatever creature had the kind of strength to do that, Dean did not want to stick around if it decides to come back. And, being as it's morning judging by the light filtering in the warehouse windows, whoever works here is probably gonna be showing up soon and he has no real way to explain this particular gory mess. So, he needs to get up and get them the hell out of dodge, and pronto.

The second thing Dean notices, as he’s picking himself off the ground on wobbly legs, is that his back doesn’t hurt. With the way it was shredded by all that glass he hit, it should be stinging like a motherfucker right now. On top of that, he feels… wrong. It’s hard to put his finger on why, exactly, but there’s clearly something not right with him. He feels both light and heavy at the same time, and there’s a strange pressure in the back of his head that he’s never felt before. Even stranger, he can't actually recall anything after the werewolves tossed the two of them into the crates - it's all a fuzzy, red blur in his mind, and trying to make any sense out of it just makes the pressure in his head stronger. Before he can really think about it, though, he hears Sam get to his feet and turns to look at him. Sam looks about as confused as he feels, furrowing his brows and saying,

“Dude, what the hell.”

“I know, man, I know. But right now, we gotta haul ass. We can worry about it later.” Sam nods, turning to follow Dean as they head out towards the parking lot. Moving around too much vaguely aches, and he still can't focus quite right, but getting caught surrounded by dead, mangled, and if his suspicions are right, eaten, bodies is not gonna do them any favors. Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to work out the kinks, Dean can feel the edges of some huge holes in the back of his shirt sticking to him where the blood's dried, and even though he knows he should be concerned about the wounds he probably has all he can really come up with is annoyance and the thought  _Man, I liked this shirt._

“Wait, hold up. Dean, your back…” Dean turns back to look at Sam.

“Man, I know, I got cut all to hell, but we can deal with it later.”

Sam shakes his head, “No, man, the opposite - your shirt’s torn to shreds but I can see your back and it’s fine! Not even a scratch,”

Dean stops cold in his tracks. Lack of pain he could write off as adrenaline, but spontaneous healing? Wasn’t anything natural about that, no sir. He’s gotta check if Sam’s mysteriously healed up, too. “Sam, turn around, let me get a look at your back, too.” Obligingly, Sam turns around and… god damnit. Sam’s back was fine, underneath the massive gashes in his shirt and jacket. Normally that would be good news in Dean’s book, but under the circumstances….. not so much. Dean heaves a sigh, rubbing between his eyebrows, “Fuck. Somethin’s up, man - beyond whatever tore these sorry sons of bitches a new one. I hate to say it but we need to hit the books, hard, because this? Is not normal.”

“Think it could be a curse? We did hunt those witches in Tallahassee a couple weeks back, they might’ve snuck a hex bag somewhere before we got rid of them.”

“You ever hear of a curse that heals people? Man, no way we're that lucky.”

“It’s as good a theory as any right now, I mean they did-” Sam cuts himself off, hearing voices echoing in from outside. “Nevermind, we can talk about it in a bit, we gotta get outta here before they see us. No way they wouldn’t call the cops on us, with the way we look right now.” He takes off, running as quietly as he can towards the back exit.

Dean rolls his eyes a little, but jogs to catch up with his little brother's freakish Sasquatch gait all the same. Thankfully, they make it back to the Impala without anybody spotting them, though they do hear shouting from inside the warehouse shortly after they clear out. Sam winces, “Guess they found the bodies. Man, it’s not gonna be fun dealing with the thing that did that.”

Humming in agreement, Dean starts rooting around in the trunk looking for some flasks of water to clean themselves off with. Sam finds them first, and tossing Dean one as he does, and they splash water liberally over their faces and hands to wash the blood off as fast as they can. They also grab two heavy jackets out of the trunk and shrug them on, hoping they'll serve to hide the holes and bloodstains on their shirts. Finally judging themselves presentable - or at least unlikely to get arrested - the two of them hustle into the Impala, Dean quickly pulling into reverse and starts to head back to the motel. He’s kinda hungry, though, and the more he thinks about it the emptier his stomach feels. He'll have to do something about it, and soon.

Dean slaps Sam's arm lightly to get his attention, turning the car out of the warehouse lot and toward's the town's main drag, “Yo, Sam, we're stopping for food on the way back. I feel like I could eat a horse.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s weird, I’m not usually very hungry in the morning. Guess whatever the hell just happened took a lot out of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for nothing. Also I should probably mention that this is set somewhere roughly in season 2 and going wildly AU from there.


	2. Hunger

By the time Dean pulls into the local greasy spoon, it feels like the empty pit of his stomach has expanded to a massive, sprawling void. It’s actually hard for him to think straight, he’s _so damn hungry._ Five minutes longer, and he swears he would’ve started chewing on Baby’s steering wheel. From the looks of it Sam’s in the same boat, clutching his stomach and trying his hardest to curl up into a ball in his seat. As soon as the car is parked, they practically fling themselves out in their desperate rush to get inside the diner and finally get something to frickin’ _eat._

Once seated, the two of them barely glance at their menus before ordering a plate each of the biggest damn breakfast special the place has. Their waitress, a tall, leggy brunette, huffs at how brusque the two of them are being, but Dean doesn’t have enough energy to even begin to care at the moment. Through the haze that’s settled on his mind, Dean’s vaguely surprised that Sam doesn’t even ask for the hash browns to be replaced with oatmeal or something. It speaks to how damn hungry the kid is. The wait is absolutely killer, too. He's jittery the whole time, vision starting to tunnel in and a weird, dull pain flaring up from his left shoulder blade throbbing in time with his pulse. Dean feels like he might just die if he doesn't eat something and fast. Thankfully, though, the food gets there quick enough that he doesn't actually keel over from starvation.

Before Dean can so much as stop to take a breath, he’s gone through half the first plate. The world blanks out around him as he eats. A wendigo could be goring people three feet away while a demon sings fucking karaoke and he wouldn't even notice. It's only as he's finishing everything he can short of licking the plate clean that Dean can start to focus on anything but his plate in front of him. Feeling disturbed at his loss of awareness, Dean quickly takes stock of himself only to find that, while his stomach feels physically full, he's still fucking hungry - like nothing he just ate actually _satisfied_ him. Sure, it’s not the clawing, consuming thing it was however many minutes before, but it’s still a gnawing sensation just verging on the edge of painful. Looking up, Dean finds that Sam’s done with his food too - and judging by the way he’s eyeing the waitress, looks like he’s thinking about ordering more. If Dean hadn’t already been completely sure that something was seriously wrong with him and Sam before, there’d be no ignoring it now. Even he couldn’t eat this much food and still be hungry on a normal day, let alone Mr. Health Food himself.

He tries to get his brother’s attention, but nothing’s working. Dean calls his name, snaps his fingers in his face, calls him a girl and just about everything else he can think of but Sam just keeps on staring at the waitress. Normally, Dean would tease the shit out of his brother for getting caught staring at a pretty girl, but the eerily intense look Sam was giving her was not normal. It reminds him of a nature documentary he’d seen once while laid up after a hunt with only three channels available - a predator, getting ready to stalk its prey. That’s definitely not good. He’s got to get Sam’s attention off of her.

“Sam. Sam!” It takes smacking his brother in the face to startle him out of the freaky trance he’s in. Sam looks at him, brows furrowed, jaw pulling tight and lips settling down into a scowl.

“Dude, the hell was that for?”

“You’ve been staring at that waitress like she’s a damn steak for the past ten minutes, Sam.”

Sam leans back, wide-eyed and obviously unsettled.

“What? I didn’t think I was looking at anything, no way it’s been ten-” he glances at the clock, “- Shit. You’re right.” He shakes his head, brow furrowing in distress, “Dean, I think something’s seriously wrong with me, man.”

Side-eyeing the waitress and other patrons, Dean finds himself fighting not to focus in on one of them the way Sam had. It’s like there’s something in him pulling his attention towards the other occupants of the diner, though for what he hasn’t got the first goddamn clue. Even resisting it like he is, though, it still takes Sam clearing his throat loudly to keep him from falling into the same damn trance the kid had gone into. It also makes him realize that he's actually fucking drooling, which is so beyond wrong that he's not even sure how to process it. Shaking his head while thumbing the corner of his mouth to wipe the drool away, he deliberately turns back to face Sam, “Well, whatever’s up I think I’m in the same shit heap you are kiddo.” 

Groaning in dismay, Sam puts his head in his hands. After a few seconds, he seems to collect himself, and stares straight at Dean as seriously as he can.

“You were right back at the warehouse, man. Something’s up. We gotta head back to the motel, figure out exactly what's going on. God, I just hope we weren’t bitten while we were out.” And shit, Dean hadn’t even _thought_ of that, which goes to show just how off his game he was over this whole mess. There are still two days left of the full moon - if they **were** bitten they need to deal with it _right the hell now_ before they get a chance to seriously hurt someone. Would they even be able to tell if they were bitten? Whatever healed their backs could’ve healed a bite, easy. Dean feels himself beginning to freak out just thinking about the possibilities. Could that be what the hunger they feel is? He’s never heard of a werewolf experiencing this type of ravenous hunger when not transformed but with their rotten-ass luck it could definitely happen to them. Shit, _shit, **SHIT!**_ Trembling slightly, Dean runs a hand over his face and takes a breath to compose himself.

“Fuck. Sam, we need to call Bobby and we need to call him now. If we’re gonna turn tonight we need to get outta town, find some way to restrain ourselves, or...” Dean can’t even make himself complete that thought. He stands and throws some bills down on the table, hoping it’ll be enough to cover the bill, and all but runs back out to the car, Sam hot on his heels. Getting into the Impala, he tosses his phone in Sam’s lap so he can start dialing Bobby. With whatever tore those ‘wolves to bits still on the loose and their pending descent into monsterhood, he is pretty damn sure that there’s no way this day could get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to cee, aj, defilerwyrm and others at the SPN_Fic irc channel, who helped me edit the tar outta this thing


	3. Monster

Unfortunately for them, Bobby didn’t know about any werewolf lore that involved overwhelming, nigh-uncontrollable hunger shortly after infection - or any other creature with that kind of affliction, either. He did promise to hit the books and get with whoever he could to find out and call them back that evening, but to Dean that wasn’t exactly much of a consolation. Worse, the drive back was doing absolutely jack shit to ease his nerves, and if anything having time to stew on what could be up with them was only making it worse. Sam’s gone quiet, too. Since hanging up the phone with Bobby, all he was doing was staring at his hands. Dean guesses he’s gone into shock, and if Dean thinks that if he wasn’t driving he’d be right there with him.

Getting back to the motel, the two of them shuffle inside in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Dean just hoped Sam wasn’t obsessing about Madison - he’d only just gotten over having to take her out, and the possibility of _them_ now being werewolves had to be stirring up those memories. He’ll have to do something to take Sam’s mind off of it, he guesses, because as much as he wants to crawl into bed and not think about it, they don’t have time to fuck around. They needed to figure out for sure what was up with them and take precautions. Even if they weren’t werewolves, it was obvious that whatever happened to them had left them with some kind of monstrous new instincts, and Dean is terrified that he or Sam could end up hurting someone before they even get a handle on what’s happening to them. Before Dean can figure out how to approach the subject, though, Sam visibly pulls himself out of whatever funk he’s in, standing up off the bed and fishing out his laptop. Booting it up, he turns to Dean and says,

“First things first, we need to get another look at our backs, make sure we really aren’t still hurt and check for bite marks. Hell, if we’re lucky whatever healed us might’ve left some sign or something that’ll give us more to go on.” Dean doubts it, personally, but figures it won’t hurt to check.

“Alright, we can check my back first. I wanna grab a shower, I still feel nasty from all that werewolf blood earlier.” Before Sam can object at him claiming the first shower like that, Dean begins moving towards the motel’s lone table, shrugging off his jacket and shirt. Almost immediately after getting it off, he hears a sharp hiss of breath from Sam.

“Dude, what? There something there after all?” 

“If I didn’t know you didn’t have one, I’d say it was a tattoo.”

“The hell?” Dean turns and heads into the bathroom, taking a look at his back in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a weird symbol situated directly on his left shoulder blade. Sam was right when he said it looked like a tattoo - it was a flat, even black mark about the size of his fist, slightly glossy and seemingly a different texture from the rest of his skin. It looked kind of like a sun, with a round center and pointed spikes radiating out at even intervals, except the right side of the mark opened into what looked like a mouth full of sharp teeth. The thing was fucking creepy, in Dean’s opinion. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely new. Fuck.” 

“I’ll snap a pic and text it to Bobby, maybe it’ll help him figure it out.” Sam heads quickly back into the main area of the motel room, grabbing his phone. Dean, meanwhile, was thinking back to the diner - when the hunger was at it’s peak, he could vaguely recall a throbbing pain coming from around the area of this mark. The two were definitely related, though he’d have to check to see if a mark like it was on Sam to be completely sure. He feels a smidge of relief, as well - werewolves weren’t known to spontaneously develop tribal tattoos, so he almost certainly wasn’t turned into one. 

Shouting out to Sam, “You think it’s a curse mark or somethin’?” Sam makes his way back into the small bathroom, shrugging distractedly.

“Probably so. Won’t really be able to tell until we do some research, but I can’t think of anything else that would make something like that show up. Good news is, if it is a curse that means we aren’t weres, so. There’s that.” While talking, Sam takes the picture, then shoots Dean a strained smile while tapping out a short text. “I’ll get started trying to find something out about this, you go ahead and shower.” He leaves the bathroom, and Dean shuts the door behind him, resting his head on the closed door momentarily. Christ, is he exhausted. It’s not even noon and already he wants this day over with. He hopes he’ll feel better after showering.

\--------------------------------

Dean does not feel better after his shower. Sam has a mark too, as it turned out - basically a mirror image of the one on Dean, situated on his right shoulder blade with the teeth facing left. At first Dean had been hopeful upon discovering that, since having a specific mark to look up should drastically narrow down the possibilities for what was wrong with them, but as time started passing that hope quickly drained into frustration as they tried to actually research it. He had little patience for research on a good day, and with his nerves already shot from both the warehouse and the diner, it was about as far from a ‘good day’ as possible. With as little info as they were able to dig up, Dean’s patience had slipped away completely within the first hour and he gave up and started pacing several more after that. And now, here they were, nearly seven hours gone and still with no more information than they had started with. Even Bobby hadn’t found anything yet when he had called to check in on them, and that was not a good sign in Dean’s book. He swears he is going to fucking lose it if something doesn’t happen, and _soon._ It didn’t help that he could feel that consuming, mind-numbing hunger starting to sneak up on him again, either.

Suddenly, a loud clunk echoes throughout the room, and what little airflow there had been stagnates. Dean stops in his tracks, livid. He cannot believe their shitty luck. The _fucking AC had just quit on them_. Sure, it was only mid-April, so it wasn’t like it was that fucking hot outside, but it was the principle of the thing, god damn it. He tries to steady himself with deep breaths, but he’s shaking with pent-up rage and frustration and lashes out before he can reel himself in, swinging his arm out in a wide arc and knocking over a chair. 

“FUCK! God damn it all!” 

Sam jumps back in surprise and more than a little annoyance, glaring at him from behind the computer.

“For fuck’s sake Dean, calm down. You’re making me restless just watching you.”

Dean whirls around to face his brother, “Dammit Sam, we were fucking looking at people in that diner like pieces of steak and here we are hours later with no answers and no way to know how to stop it - or hell, us - if it starts up again, and now on top of ALL OF THAT, the fucking air conditioner is busted. Tell me you aren’t just as pissed about this thing as I am.” 

Sam sighs, rubbing between his eyes with one hand and slouching back onto his chair, “Yes, Dean, of course I’m frustrated. Hell, thinking about it too hard is making me sick to my stomach. I just don’t see the point in working myself up over it needlessly. You’re only making it worse for yourself, dude. You need to calm down.” 

Right though Sam may be, Dean _so_ does not need that shit right now. Snarling out, “I’ll show _you_ fucking calm,” he storms out of the room and into the parking lot, slamming the door behind himself. For a moment he just stands there, breathing heavily, trying to collect himself. He knows he’s acting way pissier than usual, but he’s just so riled up from the day he’s having. After a few minutes pass, Dean lets out a big sigh, deciding to head for the hotel lobby to see if he can’t get something done about the air conditioner, while he’s out here. Maybe getting something productive done will do something for him. 

When he gets to the front desk, it’s being manned by an older-looking guy with grey, balding hair and a grouchy look in his eye. The dude’s reading something, and Dean clears his throat to try and get his attention. No dice. He tries again, louder this time, before trying ringing the bell on the counter. The guy’s still lost in his fucking book. “Hey, buddy,” he tries, and still fucking nothing. Fuck it, Dean does not have the patience for this. He snatches the book out of the guy - dude’s name tag says Marv, the fuck kinda name is that - ‘s hands, dumping it on the counter next to them and ignoring the dude’s indignant shout. Oh yeah, he’s got the asshole’s attention now.

“There something I can help you with, kid?” the clerk grates out, jaw clenched tightly.

“Well gee, now that you ask. Our air conditioner’s broken, room 13.”

“Yeah, yours and half the other rooms’. Repair guy doesn’t come until tomorrow, live with it until then.” Sneering at Dean, Marv picks his book back up and pointedly begins to ignore him, and with that, and Dean has _had it._ He feels like he’s boiling over with all the rage and frustration he’s had pent up inside him all day, and he feels something _give_ inside of him. He doesn’t even think about it before he’s jumped the desk and has the clerk shoved against the wall, a hand pressed tight into the man’s throat.

An itchy, crawling sensation begins to radiate out from the mark on his left shoulder blade, spreading slowly across his torso and down his limbs. The further it gets, the more he feels something within him shifting, though it utterly fails to register through the red haze of anger he’s fallen into. All Dean can think about is how _fed up_ he is, and how _starving_ and how _damn satisfying_ it would be to take a bite out of the man he has pinned, all the while watching him struggle and choke in his grip. He starts to lean in, opening his mouth to rip into the helpless clerk, when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. There’s a series of black lines stretching across his hand, and as he watches the lines extend onto his fingers he sees his hand begin to _contort,_ the skin darkening and the bones shifting under the skin. Dean stops cold, snapping abruptly back to reality. _What the fuck is happening?_

Dean shoves himself away from the clerk, watching in horror as the man drops to the floor, unconscious, though from fear or from the choking he cannot tell. Muttering denials, he backs away shakily, hyperventilating in fear of what he has done, what he had been about to do. Fuck, he was gonna - gonna EAT another person! And beyond that, he was turning into some type of monster, too! He had to get out of there, had to get him and Sam away from populated areas, the fact that they were actively dangerous to those around them now thrown into stark relief. Quickly, he stumbles out of the lobby on wobbling, misshapen legs and runs as fast as he can back to their room, hoping to God that nobody would see him making the dash across the parking lot. Hopefully, Sam won’t shoot him on sight, either.


End file.
